Not Broken
by Fractal-Velocity
Summary: Hermione Granger fails to see how school of all things would help her heal after the events of last May, and certain developments prevent her from even acknowledging the Ministry's administrative capabilities. Torturous nights and cruel memories haunt the female member of the Golden Trio, and as if she doesn't have enough ghosts haunting her, there's Draco Malfoy. Post-War fic.
1. The Lucky Ones

Disclaimer: for entertainment purposes only.

 _yes..._ I tried my hand at disheartened!Hermione. This does have some direction but heh. my mind does what it wants tbh.

Translation: I have no clue what i'm doing.

Enjoy.

* * *

When she was five, she could remember a magician coming to town. He swooped in with no sense of subtlety, yet his flashy stars and sparkles had amused her then. He'd pulled a rabbit from a hat and made a bouquet of roses appear from a pile of kerchiefs, and she'd nearly lost her breath from the impossibility of it all. And then she'd read, and read, and _read again_ , until she learned that there was no real mystery to it at all and she'd just been fooled.

And now, gazing up at the spires and towers that had been hastily reconstructed over the year, Hermione realized that no amount of rebuilding spells and shields and shiny new buildings would conceal the terror that cloaked the castle's every wall and tainted its very core. The grounds were now seeping with latent magic; she could feel it tugging at her soul. She wondered how many new ghosts would haunt the school walls now that their resting place was reopened for service.

Eighth year he called it. They were to be Eighth years at Hogwarts. Kingsley had glossed over this part of the discussion when they'd met him last. The thing about adults was that they were sure it was their world entirely and everyone else in it existed to serve a purpose at their whims. Sure they had laws and such to prevent them from being utter _arseholes_ about it but if you thought hard enough those things didn't help one bit when someone else decided they didn't want to fit in the framework and proceeded to _fuck shit up_. There were no rules in war- no playbook. They had been child soldiers really. It should have been wrong. Back then all they'd wanted to do was finish the fight and end the suffering. But now… now all Hermione could think about was how _wrong_ it all was. They'd been used. The war was won and their part had been played. Now they were teenagers again; celebrated war heroes, but teenagers nonetheless. The Order couldn't have them; they were technically too young to join, but necessity, determined by adults, had demanded they be able to engage. They weren't of age to become Aurors and do any real good to the world and Hermione had soon begun to realize that her hopes of rescuing the administrative bodies of the magical world had been fostered in a realm of her own making. A twelve year old girl's world- one where people like Kingsley Shackelbot didn't look down at her a fucking _laugh_ when she attempted to pitch an idea to him about reformation and reconciliation.

"You're thinking about it again."

Ginny sidled up in the periphery of her vision and seemed to be grinning wanly.

"Don't laugh," Hermione warned. "It was a shit thing for a Minister to do."

"I know, I know! Goodness 'Mione, I'm not laughing about that- I'm not even laughing," Ginny lied, biting her lip to conceal a smile. "It's just that it's been weeks and you're still thinking about it and getting teary eyed."

The brown haired witch jerked in response, narrowing her eyes, body tense and ready. Ready for what? She couldn't loosen her stance even with the knowledge that she didn't have to fight anymore.

"What she means is," Harry swooped in, school robes tucked under one arm. "Shouldn't you be planning ways to depose him by now?"

"Yeah," Ron piped in expectantly, running a hand through his hair. "Or figuring out how to strangle him without leaving a trace?"

"What like an Incarcerous, but aimed for his neck?" Ginny interrupted.

Ron paused. "Woah am I the new Granger?" he asked with a grin.

"Magic leaves a trace," Hermione offered, relenting to their efforts to make her loosen up.

Harry beamed at her input and nodded effusively, before agreeing to her statement with a few loose facts he'd learned off a Magitech magazine. Ah Harry, always the glue of the team. She hung back as the other three marched towards the carriages that would take them to the large oak doors, to the steps they'd once bled upon. She knew for a fact she wasn't the only one secretly harboring morbid thoughts, especially on this day. But she also knew that everyone else was ready for this, ready to move on- or so it seemed. Harry had taken the effective role of Keeper of the Mood. He'd dance around everyone's emotions until they were too confused to be sad or too distracted to think about anything else. _Almost like a snitch_ , Hermione had once observed while they'd stayed over at the burrow. He took everything upon himself and as much as she hated it, she couldn't really do much to help. He had Ginny, she figured, and although they all heard her cry at night, it was ok because she had him too. Ron she'd been worried about. He'd locked himself away for most part of the calm after the end and they'd rarely seen his face for a month and a half. True enough the Weasleys had much to grieve over, but Ron grieved _alone_ unlike the others and found solace in a cup. Or two. Or several. Or the Patils. She didn't think he knew that they'd noticed and she wasn't sure if anyone else had, but she knew. Of course she knew. She was Hermione _fucking_ Granger and she'd be damned if she didn't know the symptoms of depression, addiction and sex. Because it was just sex wasn't it? It wasn't like he was _cheating_. Their kiss had meant nothing, and even if it had meant something back then, it didn't anymore. A potential rose that had bloomed too early- in terrible conditions.

But weren't roses _meant_ to thrive in thorns?

 _Merlin_ , if only she wasn't so goddamn _poetic_ maybe her mind would let her sleep once in a while. Or talk to somebody.

But no. Hermione Granger went through shit on her own and she'd rather die than drag someone else through her own mess. She was a silent warrior. She had her own battles to face and she'd fight them alone. She vehemently clung to this mantra as if it was a lifeline, and sometimes she thought it was the only thing keeping her afloat in the tides and other times it was useful as a thread in a stormy ocean.

The carriages shone in the dusky morning glow and beckoned them with doors swung open to reveal its cushioned interior. Hagrid beamed proudly at the forefront, arms wide open to embrace anyone who dared venture close to him which would have been everyone there if their attention hadn't been riveted to the dark creatures that stood restlessly, grazing near the carriages.

 _Thestrals,_ Hermione remembered, and her eyes widened at the sheer amount of reptilian horses before her.

And then wider at the sheer amount of people that acknowledged the animals. A fair amount of their earlier batch of students had turned up this spring and yet it still felt awfully alien. The train ride had been stuffy- the atmosphere tense and thick no matter what jokes they cracked and smiles they shared. The herd of Thestrals, visible and noticeable, made everything worse. Luna of course, was the only one to venture near them. The others moved over to Hagrid to greet him, and in the slow crowd, Hermione caught sight of Neville and Dean Thomas, weaving their way along. A handful of Ravenclaws had made their way to the carriages and were currently tugging Luna away from the Thestrals and after them. A small minority of Hufflepuffs were clustered a way off from the main body of returning pupils, large bumblebee striped scarves covering their features despite it being near spring. Oh yes, if there hadn't been enough reason for this year to feel more wrong and incentive for the administration to fuck up more shit, it was the fact that school was starting _mid-January_ , 1999. If there was ever a feeling of wrongness, it was when your whole world and the workings of your life were swept out from under you, tossed around in a chaos of bloodshed and disaster, and when everything settled _nothing_ was in the right place anymore.

And to add insult to injury there was Gregory Goyle, standing alone like a rock that parted a river, letting people avoid him with an unconscious wide berth as they rushed to Hagrid. Nobody had noticed him yet, and he looked happy with it.

He also looked perplexed, for some reason, as if he wasn't sure how he'd got here, and Hermione opened her mouth to alert her friends of his presence. He was slouching more, she noticed, and his forlorn expression made her snap her lips shut and grind the molars at the back of her mouth against each other. How _dare_ he. How dare he be here. How dare he look so sad. So broken.

How dare he stand there breathing.

"What is HE doing here?!" a voice thundered and suddenly Hermione was thankful for Ron.

His rage called Hagrid's attention and the giant was hurtling towards them almost instantly. He looked worried above all else and as much as Hermione was sure Goyle wasn't a threat, she was glad Hagrid felt that way. She could barely contain her glee. Maybe coming back to school wasn't such a bad idea after all. Maybe she could find her healing in rare moments like these- watching school staff beat up escapee Slytheri- _Death Eaters_.

And beat him up Hagrid did _not_ do.

The lull in conversation caused her to drag herself out of her thoughts and bear witness to Hagrid, their beloved Half giant friend, kneel carefully before Gregory _fucking_ Goyle and clasp his arms and shake him gently as if he were a lost child.

"What are you doing 'ere lad?"

"Chase him!" Dean Thomas piped in suddenly. "Kick him into the Lake!"

"Are you crazy?! Burn the bloody fucker!"

Ah, Ron, always the crowd favourite, she thought, as his agitated words caused a ragged, antagonistic cheer. Amidst the roiling hateful chants, Hermione found herself hearing other words from a time long lost to them.

 _Weasley for king_ , the voices chimed in her memory, and she had to agree.

"Weren't you t' come early, boy?" she heard Hagrid query quietly, piquing her interest.

"I -I forgot, sir."

Goyle sounded like shit.

She couldn't tell the last time she'd heard his voice, but the memories of his incessant bullying rang clear in her mind. It almost slipped by, as she let herself be consumed by the flashbacks, but the tiny detail caught hold of her attention just before it was lost forever. He'd called Hagrid _sir?!_

The crowd seemed to have also noticed something was amiss- no beating had taken place and Hagrid was far too calm for their liking.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, stepping closer. "Hagrid?"

The Half giant shot up hastily, moving forward with an arm flung out behind him, shielding the offensive intruder from sight.

Hermione paused.

"I've got t' handle this 'ere boy, kids. Why don't ya go ahead, eh? The Thestrals know where t' take ya," he grinned cheerily, before turning around and Apparating without another word.

A second later they realised he'd taken Goyle with him, and after a few grumbles the crowd of Eighth years separated into their own carriages.

"The bloody nerve!" Ron exclaimed, looking thoroughly miffed as he climbed in.

His face was blotchy from shouting and it brought out the lattice of scars across the right side of his face that stayed white against his flushed skin.

Hermione eyed them and made no comment on his outburst.

"How'd he get here anyway?" Ginny asked suspiciously. "Weren't they dumped in Azkaban some time ago?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I don't think it was for very long- they're too young."

At this Hermione snorted. "They're _eighteen_ , that's old enough in the eyes of the law."

The others turned to look at her, probably surprised she'd even put into the conversation.

"This is the _Wizengamot_ though, 'Mione," Harry pointed out, slipping an arm into his robes while he spoke.

"True," she conceded. "But these families have clear ties to Voldemort. And their parents were in the Main Circle! They can't have got off easy. They _shouldn't_ have. There's too much against them that holds in court."

Ginny scoffed in acquiescence and Ron agreed enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Harry. He probably broke out or something! We should talk to McGonagall about this!"

"It's ridiculous," his sister added, sneering.

Harry looked a touch uncomfortable at the heated tension. He struggled into the robes and nodded at them.

"I'm sure she knows already. Plus, it's Headmistress McGonagall now."

The others sighed and sat quietly for the rest of the ride.

It was ridiculous how the Great Hall looked exactly how she remembered it and at the same time, not at all. The walls arched high above their heads, sheltering the student body that streamed in through its doors with its blanket of clouds resembling a clear sky in spring. Candles twinkled as they floated in place in mid-air. The banners hung behind the teachers table at the very front of the hall, heavy with history and drapery. The four long tables sat empty as the twenty odd students took seats at their respective houses, looking around for any staff. Hermione slumped into her place at the bench, immediately followed by Ginny and Harry. Ron and Neville sat opposite them and Dean sat further along the table with Seamus, Lee and Parvati. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the other girl and rolled them as she turned to face her friends. She couldn't lower herself so as to hate her fellow Gryffindor- and it's not even like she _did_ truly. She just had nothing better to do if she was being honest, and emotions had to be let out somehow.

Once everyone from their year had settled down, Hermione realised they were the only ones there, excluding Ginny. Were they the _only_ ones who'd returned in the _whole school_? That would be ridiculous- why start a school year with no students? Did no one want to come back?

"Psst Harry," she ventured. "Do you think people wouldn't come back to Hogwarts?"

Ron snorted before Harry could reply. "Why ever not?"

"Be _cause_ Ronald, maybe their parents don't want them back here for some reason. Maybe it's because... because of everything that happened- oh goodness I haven't thought about it that way."

"I didn't think anyone would have thought about it at all," Harry deadpanned.

Ron seemed to agree. The issue was brushed aside then and they resumed taking in the Great Hall, eyes darting to places they'd laid bleeding, or in a state of similar distress. Hermione could swear she could hear the wails of the forlorn haunting the arching walls. She let her eyes wander, glaring at pillars that should've been crumbled to dust, blasted to smithereens- narrowing her eyes at the corners which should've been piled with debris and dead bodies, smeared with dried blood. The echoes of that night stirred a thumping in her head that was thankfully cut short by a door slamming open to their left.

Professor McGonagall swept into the Hall, surveying them with a kind smile that hid her obvious discomfort behind a carefully practiced veil of softness.

"Greetings, students," she began, addressing them as she made her way to the staff table.

She nodded at the other professors who moved past her to take their seats and the entire hall waited patiently for her to resume her speech.

McGonagall, Headmistress now, looked tired yet staunch. Her weary features ere strangely more somnolent that ever before, but her smile held resilience to it.

It was strangely comforting. Inspiring. Hermione found herself wanted to hate it. It was easier being bitter.

"Welcome, Eighth Years," the Headmistress began, and her voice rang around the near empty hall.

"As you all know, Hogwarts has reopened and has already welcomed students back into its halls. You may have concerns regarding the time, and how soon the school year has begun after the events of last May. _However_ , I urge you to understand- the magical community of England needs healing. We need to come together as one body to overcome the darkness that has been unleashed upon us. We may have won the war, but the darkness will not have lost if we succumb to its consequences. Unity… is something we must strive to achieve this year. This is why," and at this she paused and inhaled deeply.

"This is why you, as Eighth years, will belong to no house- so as to fully bring the school together, and show the rest of Wizarding England that boundaries can be overcome and peace can be found even in differences."

The resulting silence was almost comical.

"That being said- oh my, _Ginny Weasley_ is that _you_?"

Hermione, and everyone else in the Great Hall, shot around to look at the youngest Weasley, who'd coloured a deep shade of crimson at the mention of her name.

Meekly, the witch nodded and rose to her feet.

"Why, all normal students were requested to come earlier, were they not?" the Headmistress asked, directing her question to the staff behind her.

The teachers looked appalled, and after great discussion one of them came hurrying down to escort Ginny away.

"Well I suppose you didn't get your Prefects badge then, dear?"

"My _WHAT_?" Ginny exclaimed, glancing around in a panic as Professor Sprout guided her out of her seat by the forearm.

Ron and Harry looked equally surprised.

"Early?" Ginny asked hastily, whipping her head around so much her hair flipped in a red frenzy. "I was to come _early_?"

Professor Sprout only nodded while ushering her out of the Hall.

Silence, while lacking sound, could sometimes be deafening and this moment was testimony to that fact.

Headmistress McGonagall sighed heavily, and the façade fell, drawing everyone's attention back to the golden podium.

"Students," she said, with a wry smile, looking older than time itself. "The pressure to carry on with normalcy is high. The Minister and his new administration have _insisted_ that Hogwarts be open to students, not only to guide them and help them heal, but to prove that the Wizarding community can carry on.

"You as Eighth years will work to add to this. You won't have positions of power as Prefects…"

"What was that about," Ron whispered over McGonagall's words, shooting glances towards where Ginny had been dragged off.

" _Shhh_ , Ronald," Hermione hushed, while Harry shrugged indifferently.

"Sounded rather shoddy if you ask me," Ron continued, undaunted. "Was it just me or is Ginny really a Prefect?"

"… and thus _you_ , of all our returning students should be the ones most welcome to change and development…"

Harry perked up at the redhead's words and grinned at him, joining in on the whispering, much to Hermione's distaste.

"Bloody splendid, eh?" he chimed. "But what's with her not getting a letter?"

"Awfully careless, I'd say."

"None of us did Harry," Hermione muttered under her breath. "That announcement remember? Last December?"

"Yes but-,"

"Gin's not in our Year!" Ron near-exclaimed. "Golly, how'd we forget that?"

"Well today _is_ the official opening day," Harry recalled, pushing his glasses up his nose and squinting. "And we got no other instructions apart from Kingsely's speech."

For a blessed second the two stopped investigating and Hermione strained to catch McGonagall's words.

"She was to come early, 'Mione- what does that mean?"

" _Ron!_ "

"…don't expect this to be as easy as planned, but the Ministry of Education is hopeful that this plan works, as well as the Minister of Magic- and I myself am prompted to say I _strongly_ believe in its potential…"

"Prompted? More like legally bound," Hermione snorted.

"Whassat?" Ron asked, whipping his head around from Harry to face the Headmistress' podium. "What's she on about?"

"The Eighth Year Initiative," Harry figured. "Right 'Mione?"

"I'd _know_ if you two shut up."

"…and we are fully open to any suggestions from the student body to further expand the reformative advances adopted by the school…"

"Reformative?"

" _Ronald!"_

"'Mione," Harry chided, fiddling with his cuffs. "Relax."

"Wonder what early meant. Perhaps everyone else had their first assembly already?"

Harry frowned at Ron's observation and turned to ask Hermione for input, and as soon as she saw the flash of his dark features in her periphery, the witch shot out an answer.

"Speak and you will face vehement damage to your person," she threatened with _only a little_ force. "I'm trying to list _en_ -,"

The slamming of the door Ginny had disappeared behind shocked Hermione mid-sentence and the trio glanced around in mild panic to catch up to the happenings around them.

People seemed to be striding out to meet them, and Hermione relaxed gently as she caught sight of their school uniforms. Their gait was slow, but she supposed the new students might be a little intimidated what with the stories that circled around most of the Eighth Years. Hermione wasn't proud of what the news had spewed that last year, but she did understand how people would be equally in awe and wary of them. But then she realized how _deathly silent_ the Hall really was, and looking around at her fellow batch-mates she could tell everyone had tensed up.

Their postures screamed _hostile_ , and Hermione was almost too afraid to turn back around and face whoever was coming towards them.

"What the bloody hell? Is that _Goyle?!"_

Ah Ron. Under different circumstances she would mockingly call him her saviour for having spared her in several situations with his loud mouth, but the words he gasped out required fury and not humour.

Then Hermione really did look and what she saw nearly made her wish she hadn't.

 _Slytherins._

A horde of them were making their way into the Hall and before she could think to jump to everyone's defense, McGonagall had begun to speak- probably having anticipated a negative reception to the _children_ of the _very people_ who'd tried to _kill everyone in the fucking room_.

 _Death Eaters._

At least all of them were marked by that lunatic, and they'd all spent at least a week in Azkaban even without it.

Hermione breathed in through her nose, feeling her blood thunder through her veins as it made its new agenda to over oxygenate her entire being. She strongly felt she might implode any moment.

Parkinson. Goyle. Nott.

She was definitely going to implode. She watched their stiff spines and calculated steps and wondered whether it would be better if they were walking corpses or corpses that couldn't walk at all. Her breathing shuttered.

Zabini. Bulstrode. _Malfoy._

Her vision swam awfully and the whitened knuckles clutching at the edge of the table was the only thing keeping her upright.

"Holy," she heard someone say raggedly.

"…and that is why the Ministry deemed it best that we integrate these young students with our Eighth years so that the reformation plans could work over smoothly."

The pause in the Headmistress' speech did nothing to ease the thick tension in the room. The Slytherins lined up near their House table.

"With this effort we not only hope to unite all our students- both the ones we lost and those who have returned- we also aim to dismiss the prejudice that clouds our perception of others, in order to truly heal our community. I thank you all for your cooperation."

And with that Professor McGonagall took in a shuddering deep breath and glanced at the sparse amount of students standing at what used to be their table.

No one had reacted in any way but for the sound of their ragged, angry breathing, and the deafening silence threatened to choke them all if nothing happened. For some reason Hermione found herself flicking her gaze to Ron's face, half expecting a well-timed outburst and strangely finding none. The Weasley was turning purple in silent disbelief, glaring across the hall, and she followed his piercing stare to where the Slytherins stood.

A blond head singled itself out as she vacantly took in the cluster of students, and she was violently shoved into a memory of another place, another time, where another blond head had watched her squirm and scream and _die_ over and over on their expensive carpet. Hermione had to choke for air.

"On that note, thanks Minerva," Slughorn cheered, moving from the staff table and down to the main body of the hall to gesture at the stunned students.

"Well now, if you'll follow me."

"YOU!" someone screeched, and a quick turn in the right direction allowed Hermione to witness one Patil twin launch herself across the room, in sudden bursts of movement as if she were stuck in some slow motion jinx.

The scene unfolded almost beautifully- Parvati coming to a sudden halt, wand arm jerking forward, tears streaming down her face.

" _You!_ " she cried, voice raspy as bright colour shot out her wand before anyone could think to move, think to act.

Red streamed across the room in an angry streak, as angry as the twin that had cast it; and Hermione followed its trajectory, watching it catch Draco Malfoy clean in the chest and send him crashing into the wall far behind him with a sickening _crunch_ that should've been music to her ears.

When he fell to the ground in convulsions, she held her breath. Maybe he would die.

When the professors stormed down to where they sat, rushing to Parvati, rushing to Malfoy- she held her breath. They'd let him die. They _had to_.

Her breathing hammered in her eyes, each breath louder than her heart. Parvati was _screaming_ about something that was lost in her tearful sobbing. McGonagall was hauling her to her feet while ordering the others to _stay put_. Someone was casting a counter-curse on Malfoy and his awful screams subsided leaving a horrid echo in its place.

He hadn't died, she gathered from the relief etched into Professor Binns' features. She wanted to feel disgusted but all she could muster was a vague sick feeling. All she could see was the curse hitting him squarely and the blond doing nothing to stop it. The fucking _acceptance_ in his posture made her sick to her stomach and that made her hate him even more.

When Professor Sprout called for them to follow her to their new dorms, Hermione all but ran behind the witch.

* * *

A/N: I did a thing.


	2. I'll be Good

Disclaimer: for entertainment only, obv.

Apologies for the delay, i totallt have no plot prepared for this sigh- but i'm trying to make sense.

Props for sassy!Harry? Also thank you for the reviews on the first chapter, i'm glad you liked it :3

here we go

* * *

It had taken three hours of _endless_ explanation from Professor Sprout, who was thankfully joined by the Headmistress halfway through in order to calm them down, and Hermione stayed locked in her room for the entire duration of the riot in the common room.

The Eighth Years had been granted a new tower, all to themselves, with a large cozy common room decorated in neutral browns and pale shades of creams and pinks. They each had a room for themselves that was spread across the three floors above the common room, and the fourth floor happened to be a games room to facilitate and encourage friendship among them all. Including the Slytherins.

Upon McGonagall's insistence they weren't to be called Slytherins at all, and Hermione gave a light scoff at that when she heard it through the walls of her room. She huddled there on the smooth sheets spread across her single bed, frowning at the stone wall to her left as she replayed the scenes from earlier that day in her head.

Hogwarts was a mess that much was sure. They didn't seem ready to take on students this soon after the war, and tensions were still roiling- too intense to be glossed over with kind words. McGonagall was a wonderful speaker and an intimidating and inspiring figure, yet her guidance wasn't enough to bridge the rift between the three houses and the traitorous snakes. Words didn't merit forgiveness and Hermione was nowhere _close_ to being that polite to the likes of those death eater spawn.

She still couldn't comprehend how they were here at all, but then one thought of Kingsley's overconfident face summed it all up. Whatever the details were, there was no doubt that it was all the Minister's own doing. He was a child menace that needed adult guidance and this just sealed the deal for her. If there was anything that could infuriate her more than having to live with the people that had made her life a _living hell_ , then it was Kingsley's ugly face. It was a horrific sight in her imagination, and her hatred of him did no favours to his looks. However, no sooner had her mind deviated to distressing imagery did she recall the events of earlier that day.

The flash of red magic and the crush of Malfoy's body against the wall rang in her mind's eye and thinking immediately became a trap.

Her stomach tightened involuntarily, making it hard to concentrate on anything else except for not throwing up. She couldn't swallow for a few scary minutes and it reminded her of _everything_ ; from that fateful day she lay sprawled across the floor at the mercy of a homicidal maniac to every other encounter with death she'd skirted past.

They were old friends.

Death and she.

Dancing the old dance; twirling past each other by mere hairsbreadths and spinning back again.

The door to her room swung open then and one glance at her had Harry rushing over, a soothing hand running across her shoulders.

"Breathe, 'Mione," he said calmly, brushing her hair from her face.

She wanted to scream that she couldn't- that she wouldn't have been gasping for air if she'd known that _breathing_ would've saved her. Attempts such as these distressed her to no end- proving how incapable they were to handle her emotions, yet despite her frustration Hermione felt the knot in her trachea loosen. Ron hung back in the doorway, knowing her need for space through experience, and this rare show of sensitivity from the Weasley eased her pain. Air trickled into her lungs and she gasped like a sinner granted salvation from the golden skies. If one was being generous.

Harry beamed.

"So, McGonagall is officially _crazy_ ," he began when she settled back on the bed with a sigh of relief and a nod of thanks.

Ron slipped in and shut the door after him, scoffing to show what he thought of Harry's sentiment.

"She's Azkaban crazy!" he exclaimed profoundly. "I can't believe they let her bring those traitors back here!"

"I don't think she had much of a choice though," Harry supplied, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Seemed like the Ministry backed this entirely."

"I don't care whose idea it is I am not, I repeat NOT, rooming with those murderers!"

"Honestly, Ron!" Harry sighed. "It's not as if any of the others want to either! There's nothing to be done though- you heard McGonagall."

Ron's lips whitened with the vehemence with which he clamped his jaw shut, and the rest of his face mottled in hues of red and purple.

"No way am I letting them get away with this," he growled, daring them to challenge him.

Harry opted for silence and Hermione averted her gaze.

The thick emotion behind Ron's tone reminded her of when a gossip column had bluntly pondered whether the remaining owner and founder of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would move the apostrophe backward one letter now that the plural was no more. Ron's eyes had glittered in anger and Hermione remembered how fast Rita Skeeter had pulled back the article, not even a day after its publication. Ron was a force to reckon with when he'd been crossed, and even she had been taken aback with how efficiently he'd threatened the insensitive "journalist". If she hadn't been so disgusted by the article and its timing, Hermione was sure she would've found the emotional resources to be proud of the redhead.

"We could take it to my father... I'm sure he'd be able to break some sense into Kingsley."

Hermione wasn't sure Arthur Weasley could break _anything_ in general, so she licked her lips and said nothing- watching the warring emotions flickering across her friends' faces.

Harry, however, shook his head lightly. "I doubt that would be the best- they're all _trying_ Ron. We don't have to like it, but we can help make it run smoother. Whoever came up with this must've run through the idea more than we have. I doubt they liked it much the first time around either."

Surprised by the wizard's observation, Hermione shot Harry a stiff glare and sniffed in disagreement, turning to face the wall.

"Hogwarts is in no place to _'try'_. The fact that Gin didn't get her letter is enough to prove how under-prepared they are."

The boys looked at her curiously.

"You think it didn't just get lost in the mail?"

"Harry," Hermione sighed. "Owls rarely ever get lost- plus it's the _Burrow_. Hogwarts probably has a separate owl to send to the Weasleys judging by how many acceptance letters and Prefects badges they've got."

"I doubt it," Harry laughed. "But I'll take your word on that one."

"Can't believe my sister is a cop."

"Don't be jealous, Ron."

"Get off my case, 'Mione, I was just _saying_!"

"Cool it you too. I'm proud and that's enough for her without you two bickering over it."

The sly crooked grin that stole across the Golden boy's face made Hermione's own lips curl up in response. Ron turned a sickly shade of green and protested his best friend's public display of affection of sorts. Harry's smile was infectious and if the witch hadn't already been imagining the manic smile that had haunted her dreams for months on end during the past year, she realised she would've grinned back.

She wasn't even sure whose it was- that dark, sinister leer burned into her memory- and as she watched Harry duck away from Ron's headlock she found herself wanting to be in _their_ moment and not stuck in her own head. She watched the two of them struggle in a playful show of masculine dominance and rolled her eyes as the pseudo fight transformed into a _Who is the Better Sportsman_ contest. It was a verbal sparring match that Harry had started employing in order to drag Ron out of the house and get him to exercise without noticing they'd tricked him into it.

The boys' bickering faded into white noise in the background of Hermione's thoughts as her mind drifted back to those days spent at the Burrow, immersed in their own sorrow and worried about each other's simultaneously. Suffering in groups had somehow been both a balm and a burden at the same time. The Weasleys had always been strongly familial, and as much Hermione had found solace in their warm hearth, the lack of privacy had soon begun to itch at her.

She remembered stifling meals times, conversations and _hugs_ that threatened to cut off her air supply purely through the amount emotion there had been to go around. She grieved for Fred, but sometimes, she wondered if he had it better off than she.

But then she'd be reminded how broken in _half_ George was and she'd immerse herself in intense self-loathing till the next day. The thought came coupled with the memory of hiding in Molly's rustic patch of vegetation; the smell of freshly turned dirt and sparse greens coaxing her to breathe after a particularly exhausting session of self-hate.

Maybe _that's_ what she needed; a plant or two. Maybe a fern. Potted plants were tended to easily enough, weren't they?

Ron seemed to disagree, what with the way he was staring at her from the floor, and the worry on his face drew the witch out of her thoughts.

"Oi, 'Mione," he called. "Lost you there for a minute didn't we?"

"Are you two about done making out then?"

"GINNY!" Harry panicked, jerking at the sound of her voice from the doorway before shooting up from the stone floor in a flurry of limbs and messy hair.

His girlfriend smirked at his dishevelled state and squirmed her way into the room.

"Yes, yes it is I, your friendly neighbourhood _Prefect_ ," she garbled cheekily, heading straight for Hermione in the now overcrowded room.

Gin seemed to notice this, as well as the other witch's sudden stiffness, and promptly began to shoo the boys through the door.

"Out you get," she ordered, mimicking her mother's severity and toning it down with the classic Weasley Matriarch Smile.

With a rather harsh pinch to his arm, Ron exited first, grumbling about _overachieving younger sisters_ and _unnecessarily shiny badges_. Harry managed to stall his redhead girlfriend for a few seconds- unceremoniously digging his fingers into the doorway in order to shoot her a winning Potter smile that earned him nothing but a quick wink and an evil grin. A gentle _Flipendo_ knocked him clear of the doorway soon after, and a _Colloportus_ slammed, and locked, the door in his face. His laughter followed shortly after and Ginny sighed in fondness.

"That's that then," the younger witch stated, before stretching out on the bed beside her friend.

"Can you believe it?" she asked excitedly.

"Of course I can, that's _brilliant_ Gin."

"Luna thinks it's crazy too! But she did say some thing about the toadstool predicting my prefectship last November."

Hermione nodded, and then paused. "Wait… did you just say Luna?"

"And honestly, it's great and all but if I must say it's a little strange don't you think? I've never seen a Prefect be appointed at school itself."

"Gin? Wasn't Luna with us? At the assembly?"

"Mom would've loved to hear- I wonder why it didn't come in the post?"

 _"Gin."_

"Probably had something to do with me having to have come early, don't you think 'Mione?"

"Mhm."

"Awfully strange."

"Very."

"Wait a _minute_. Luna was with us on the train! Suppose she didn't get her letter either? What do you think, Hermione? If that's the case, this is just _rotten_ then, good god."

The older witch sighed heavily and fiddled with the dimples her weight left in the sheets.

"That's what I was wondering," she said. "Hogwarts doesn't seem to be handling a new school year quite well."

"I think so too. My whole year was already in the dorms when I got there. Peter is Head Boy, and _Merlin_ he's nearly sprouted a face full of hair!"

"Peter?"

"Doesn't matter," Ginny said dismissively. "What does is the fact that there's a whole bunch of kids sorted into Slytherin this year!"

She sounded affronted. It was clear what she thought of them and Hermione agreed fully, but after that assembly she didn't think she had it in her to talk about those particular witches and wizards. They were hardly that. People? Human beings? Existences? Wastes of space? Probably less.

"Can't believe they kept that damn house! Should've burned that tower to the ground."

"Mhm."

The redhead squirmed on bed until she could peer up at the curly haired witch beside her, squinting an eye to exaggerate her point.

"Come on, Hermione. Loosen up a little, love. Take a breath."

The other witch sighed. "You weren't at that assembly, Gin."

"Well, Luna told me it was awful."

At this, Hermione started. "She did?"

"Yeah."

"And… And what do you think?"

"I dunno… I doubt _Fitzwinkle Ferri_ fairy types are a real thing at all. And I suppose everyone else would've noticed if they'd been eating at the house flags."

Hermione let out her held breath with a whoosh that she could feel caving out her lungs.

"Oh, _Gin_ ," she mumbled weakly.

The other witch shot up from the bed, the tone of her friend's voice prompting her to assume the worst scenario she could imagine.

"What? What is it, Hermione?" the ginger demanded. "Is McGonagall ill? Is she not well? She isn't well isn't she? Oh _Merlin_ , Ana was right! I didn't believe her though- she's such a gossip."

"Ginny no, calm down- it's much less drastic." _It's much more horrific_.

"Well then? Spit it out," Ginny said flatly, hands on hips as she sat back on her calves, waiting.

Hermione sighed. "The Slytherin's in our year are back."

The silence from Ginevra Weasley was so intense, and so seldom witnessed, that Hermione almost felt bad for having shocked her friend into it. The Burrow had never been a quiet household what with the abundance of Gryffindor boys, and Ginny's femininity had never been a reason for her to be settled and less noisy either. The youngest Weasley had always been outspoken, confident in her own opinions and her body. She was equal to her brothers in speed, strength and lack of anger management skills, yet she was also well versed in the feminine world of fashion and gossip. But silence didn't suit her well and Hermione found herself regretting ever having told her about the developments in Hogwarts.

"What," Ginny croaked slowly, her voice strangled and weak. "You're _joking_."

"I wish I was," Hermione murmured, edging off the bed warily.

Ginny looked stunned; frozen in disbelief. The older witch suddenly had no desire to be in the vicinity when the redhead blew her fuse, and slipped off her bed soundlessly before making her way to the door.

"They're what?!" Ginny was muttering. "Wait, where are you going? Hermione! They're not really here are they?"

"I need some air, Gin- talk to Harry," Hermione supplied apologetically, shooting her friend a wry glance before ducking out the door at the sight of her reddening face.

"Hermione Granger! Tell me the scum who killed my brother are not back in this school! TELL ME! You better not be lying, you cruel witch- come _back_!"

All Hermione could do to help was tune out her friend's enraged cries, nod at Harry in quiet persuasion and make a mad dash across the common room to burst through the portrait. Behind her, Harry leaped from his game of chess with Ron by the fireplace, and the two boys scrambled for Hermione's room- hurrying to calm the redhead screaming blue murder.

* * *

The lake was flat and unassuming in the light that filtered through the trees, and Hermione could only assume that the giant squid was yet to rise from its hibernation. The air carried a rather strong chill despite being early spring and if she hadn't been so tired she would've cast a warming charm. The leaves of the oak that spanned above her were bright enough to remind Hermione of the Weasley garden, and the soothing scent of the forest surrounding the lake was reminiscent of her times spent catching her breath in amongst the foliage.

It was strangely calming despite sounding horrifically close to something _Luna_ would suggest. Hermione huffed at the comparison.

She then focused on the very reason she'd even barrelled out of the Eighth Year tower and sprinted through a game of friendly Quidditch out on the lawn, scaring more than a few Fifth Years in order to find a place of solace.

The Slytherins.

Hogwarts' designated curse. The bane of her existence; _pure evil_.

And now she had to _live_ with them- study with them even. She was to treat them as classmates, as equals, and despite how badly she wanted to think she could live up to the Headmistress' wishes, she knew deep down that she wouldn't tolerate them one bit. Seeing them had been enough to render her breathless and think about every single time one of them had either wanted her dead, bullied her or even so much as _sneered_ in her direction. Having to socialise with them and even acknowledge them would most probably result in immediate violence from her part.

And then there was Draco _fucking_ Malfoy.

Her stomach turned as she saw that white, _white_ hair in her mind's eye and she quickly honed her thoughts away from that fateful day and towards more productive musings such as ways in which she could eliminate his foul presence. She vaguely remembered hearing about how Lucius Malfoy had finally cracked under Voldemort's authority. She'd been perversely gleeful at the time, but had later found out that the man had been denied a sentence of life imprisonment in Azkaban due to his mental conditions. She'd been furious, but now she had a chance to exact that justice on the heir to the Malfoy _legacy_. The thought felt like it should have succeeded in cheering her up, but Hermione only felt drained; her well of hate was running low for the day and she had nothing left to use to pull herself through.

Living out of spite sometimes failed her when she'd run out of the strength to constantly _hate_ \- but she supposed the same could be said about living out of hope.

Living was the true task and however you chose to do it was irrelevant, in her opinion. But one thing she knew for sure was that Draco Malfoy and his kind did not, under any circumstance, deserve to even live.

A shuffling of feet disturbed her inner monologue, and for a wicked moment she felt her heart stop and thought of speaking of the devil and its circumstances. She closed her eyes, screwed them shut even- ready to defend herself from the pale, _pale_ face and cruel eyes with no soul behind them.

She couldn't decide whether they would be empty or endless, but she figured it didn't matter. It's not like she'd ever looked at his eyes anyway.

Silence from around her forced the witch to flee from her inner ramblings and peek through one shut eye. Instead of pale limbs and a ferret face, she was greeted with a bronze tan, belonging to a tall figure that was folding itself over as it crouched beside her, long legs stretched out before them as if the space was meant to be shared. She let her gaze squint in suspicion as she followed the offending limbs up to a clean white Oxford and broad shoulders upon which a dark face frowned up at the trees.

"Miss Granger," the face said, nodding in greeting without looking at her.

Zabini. Huh.

 _Huh_.

A Slytherin was sat beside her.

A Slytherin.

Zabini.

She was- oh _Merlin_.

He seemed to take her silence as a greeting ( _why was he greeting her at all, honestly?_ ) and continued gazing at the trees above them, leaning back with his arms outstretched behind him to support his weight. Hermione tried to breathe.

 _What was he doing here?_ Why was he so near her?

Space. She needed space.

"Nice day out isn't it?"

"Er… what?" she found herself asking stupidly.

Zabini hummed. "Nice day."

The swell of panic rising in her chest forbade her from answering immediately. The wizard beside her didn't seem to mind, unfortunately. Was he always in conversations where his companion was speechless? Probably.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione struggled to say in a neutral tone- the words involuntarily flying out of her mouth and running over each other.

Zabini seemed to understand. Maybe the people he spoke to were generally incoherent as well.

"Out here by the lake?" he asked after a pause to pick at some grass. "Or here in Hogwarts at all?"

"Both," Hermione blurted.

"Ministry issue," he replied, and when he finally turned to look at her his grin rivalled a shark's- all toothy and bloodthirsty.

She nearly fainted with the urge to flee, but she wouldn't let herself. Not from _Zabini_ of all people. Instead, Hermione grit her teeth and forced herself to speak.

"The Ministry didn't pass any laws insisting that you had to bother me, did they?"

Zabini's smile reduced in its predatory intensity and his dark features softened, making her wonder if the harshness had ever been there at all. "No. I just wanted to say hi."

Hermione growled. "What makes you think you had the right to?"

"Come now, Miss Granger, classmates can't speak to each other?" he asked, fine eyebrows rising in a graceful arch, before turning away to glance at the lake.

"We. Are not. Classmates," she spat, refusing to look away and hoping that her hostile gaze was drilling holes into the side of his head.

 _That's more like it_. Less panic, more anger.

"We were," Zabini pointed out, infuriatingly nonchalant. "We had Potions with you Gryffs, remember?"

What _was_ he doing? What was he up to?

"That was a long time ago."

"I beg to differ," he pronounced, waving an arm dramatically. "It was only two years back."

Hermione felt her chest tighten. Did he honestly think they were on speaking terms? She had been so sure this was some cruel attempt for him to get close to her and dig out her intestines with his bare hands when she was distracted, to produce before… before whichever one of them called the shots now. Nott perhaps- or even _Malfoy_.

"Leave me the _hell_ alone."

Zabini turned back to look at her then, eyeing her with a dark gaze that made her feel equal parts insecure and infuriated. She let her hand slip off her lap and towards the pocket of her jeans where her wand was.

Her mind raced through the possible jinxes she could employ without landing in too much trouble while another part of her hastily attempted to figure out how Zabini might approach a duel. It was strangely difficult and after a few beats Hermione realised she'd never seen him fight, nor had she fought against him. She watched his face warily, fingers curling into her pocket in anticipation.

And then to her surprise, and disappointment, Zabini nodded. And after a breath he launched to his feet, towering over her as she remained sat on the grass, and dusted the seat of his pants. He shot a wry smile in her direction and turned to leave.

"G'day, Miss Granger" he called, strolling casually through the trees. "See you in class tomorrow."

Hermione watched him go, fingers clenched around the wand she had very nearly drawn on the wizard as soon as she'd realised he was about to move. Her heart slowed in its frantic beating as Zabini put more distance between them and she gulped in hungry breaths of air as soon as the restriction upon her chest loosened. The clearing was stuffy however, and once she had regained her bearings, Hermione decided the place was tainted. She would never come here again.

He'd destroyed her place of solace.

Without meaning to.

No- that must have been his intention all along. He had seen her calm peaceful aura and wanted to disrupt it. It may not have been a preconceived plan, but it didn't mean he didn't have any ill intent, and that was exactly what she told Harry later that day in their Common Room. The area was silent, as the rest of their batch had either gone to bed, or were still at the dinner feast. The Slytherins had not been present in the Great Hall and they were yet to be seen lingering around the tower. Harry suspected they were laying low. He also suspected she was being paranoid and told her so.

"I'm not… what? Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" Hermione whispered loudly, glancing around the room.

"There."

"There what?"

"The peering and looking," Harry sad simply.

"I'm just worried someone will hear you and then think I'm bloody bonkers," she snapped. "Plus you're whispering too!"

Harry chuckled at that, shifting in his armchair to drape his legs over the side.

"No one thinks you're barmy, 'Mione," he said fondly.

"Yes, well you seem to," the witch huffed, sitting back and crossing her arms.

"I just said that it was unnecessary-,"

"That's not what you said! You called me paranoid. That's a lofty accusation from the boy who stalked Snape for the entirety of his lifetime because he was _'up to no good'_."

"-and because of that you don't really have to worry too much about his intentions, honestly."

"He's a Slytherin Harry!" she exclaimed finally, standing from her chair to pace around the room. "They can't be trusted."

"Well then," Harry muttered, fixing his glasses on his face. "What did Zabini do to earn your vehement mistrust?"

Hermione paused.

"They _can't_ be trusted!" she argued weakly.

"Hermione Granger, on my _word_!" Harry gasped in mock horror. "Is that the lack of a logical reasoning I hear?"

"You're a prat," the witch sighed, flopping back into her seat. "You're a righteous prat, Harry James Potter."

"I'm also the new Brightest Witch of Our Age!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Wizard rather. So move along, lady. We don't need you anymore."

Hermione just chucked a cushion at him in reply.

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry said sincerely, after batting the flying pillow away from his face before it could collide with his glasses. "You know Zabini didn't do anything to earn your scrutiny. He didn't even play a part in the war, you know this."

The way he eyed her so intensely, made the witch feel ashamed. "Fine Harry."

"No 'Mione, listen. I know you don't like the way things are, but this is how it has to be, and you can't take your anger out on people like Zabini. He can't face the Death Eater prejudice just because he was Slytherin," Harry sad pointedly. "That's exactly what McGonagall and the Ministry are trying to prevent. No matter what bad things they'd done in school, and no matter what bad decisions they made- they're still children like us. They've got to live- the war isn't their lives just because they were born into it."

"So what about the ones who did kill, huh Harry? What about the _actual_ Death Eaters in this school?!"

Harry cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Only Nott and Malfoy ever took the mark."

Hermione faltered. "Fine then. Take Malfoy- are we to forgive him as well? Everything he did? He let them into Hogwarts… he tried to kill Dumbledore!"

"But he didn't."

"Harr _yy_ ," the witch groaned. " _Fine_. I'm sure he's killed or at least tortured a few innocent someones."

"I'm not sure about the torture but I do know he never used the Avada," Harry said quietly. "You can't get away scot free with an untarnished image when you've got the Dark Lord living in your house."

Hermione had forgotten how persuasive and passionate Harry could be when it came to doing the right thing- whether it was sacrificing himself, saving Buckbeak or just standing for those who'd been marginalised. In many ways they were the same, just as they weren't in many others; siblings in heart and mind yet not in blood. Hermione sunk lower in her chair, feeling physically weighed by her best friend's criticism.

"You're awfully into this, Harry," the witch mumbled, shooting a suspicious glance at her friend.

The wizard diverted his gaze to the fireplace, rubbing at the spot on his forehead where his scar used to be.

"I'm just trying to move on, 'Mione," he said finally, after a long moment of silence. "The war is over. I want to live like it is."

With that he rose to his feet and moved over to lay a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. He sighed a little, and then headed off for the stairs that led him away from the Common Room and to their dorms.

"Night, 'Mione. Sleep well."

"Night Harry. You too."

"I mean it," he called down after a pause. "Get some sleep, please?"

She sighed. "I'll try."

And she did, she really did- but her dreams were only of dark nights spent in fear, the flashes of curses and the sting that followed when they made contact, and worst of all, that smile. That horrific smile that looked like it belonged on a pale face, or a crazy woman's lips, or even that rotten snake. Everything merged into one depressing nightmare and her she lay in bed till the wee hours, sleep evaded.

* * *

A/N: thanks for reading! drop a review if you have any questions or suggestions

see you with the next update, which will hopefully be up by Friday eheh :3


End file.
